When We Touch
by ipreferwestside
Summary: She reaches behind her to curl her fingers around his wrists, laces her fingers through his as she slows the movement of her mouth. "Let's go to bed," she mutters against his mouth, and he sweeps his lips across hers for a mere moment before stepping away from the door. A 7x06 post-ep. Rated M. COMPLETE.


**WHEN WE TOUCH  
RATED M**

* * *

Their family leaves shortly after finishing off the bottle of sparkling cider, Jim claiming that they shouldn't get back to the city too late. They part after hugs and kisses and one knowing look from Martha that has Kate blushing furiously, and Rick thinks it's adorable how the color seeps across her face, even to the tips of her ears.

His hand slides across her lower back as they wave, but as soon as Jim's sedan is out of sight, he nudges the door shut, dips his hand to squeeze her hip.

His wife's hip.

 _His wife._

He's overcome with the need to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, so when she laces her fingers through his and turns back towards the kitchen he tugs her against him. Surprise flashes across her face for a fraction of a second before he descends, his hands sliding down to cup her ass as his mouth meets hers. He takes a step forward, nudging her back, and she gasps into his mouth when he pins her against the door.

She's intoxicating, her mouth a warm, welcoming home, her tongue insistent against his, her fingers coasting through the hair at his nape before she loops her arms around his neck.

"Kate," he breathes at the roll of her hips into his, the desperate swipe of her tongue, and he slides his legs between hers.

She reaches behind her to curl her fingers around his wrists, laces her fingers through his as she slows the movement of her mouth. "Let's go to bed," she mutters against his mouth, and he sweeps his lips across hers for a mere moment before stepping away from the door.

He takes a detour through the kitchen to grab the champagne from the fridge, but his fingers itch after just a moment of being separated, and his hand is back in Kate's as soon as he's back by her side. He doesn't want to spend a moment away from her tonight, wants to feel her skin against his, this first night of the rest of their lives.

She lifts a brow when she sees the bottle, the corners of her mouth raised in a teasing smirk he knows all too well. "No glasses?"

He glances at the bottle in his hand, then sweeps his gaze along her body, perusing her. "Do we really need them?" he teases, taking a step closer.

She hums and loops her arms around his waist when he steps into her, tilts her head to the side. "Depends on how messy you want to get," she fires back.

He groans as her hips press into his, the hands at the small of his back tugging his shirt. He steps out of her embrace, to try and dampen the desire flooding through his veins, stop himself from taking her right there in the kitchen. Maybe in the morning, he tells himself as he takes two flutes from the cabinet, but not right now. No, for their first time as husband and wife, he wants to be in bed. He wants to stretch over her, wants to feel her shudder beneath his mouth, to pour his love and devotion into every thrust of his hips.

Her nails scrape low against his back as she rucks his shirt from his pants, dangerously close to dipping beneath his waistband, and he jerks, tries to glare at her. "Can we at least be in our room before we get naked?" he says, his voice low, almost a growl.

She chuckles and lifts to taste his downturned mouth, then plucks the flutes from his hand with nimble fingers. "Lead the way, husband."

Their free hands find each other again, fingers twining, the grip loose yet sure. She walks in front of him, but she isn't leading; he'd willingly follow her anywhere, _has_ followed her anywhere. She turns when they cross the threshold to their room, taking the bottle from him, sets it on the nightstand.

"Do you want me to pour-"

"In a bit," she husks, putting the flutes next to it and turning to him. She tugs at the lapels of his coat, pulling him in for a long, slow kiss that makes his knees weak before shoving the coat off his shoulders. Her fingers move to the top button of his shirt next, and as she slips each disk free her mouth tastes the skin that she uncovers.

He groans when she drops to her knees, her mouth at his midriff, and when she nips at the skin below his bellybutton he shudders, drops a hand to her shoulder. "Kate…" he half-moans, half-breathes, and he's glad she doesn't stop to ask him what, because he doesn't know if he'd ask her to keep going slowly or take him in her mouth and just _suck,_ but either way he won't last with her mouth on him. And he wants to last.

When she unbuckles his belt he has to take a step back, because he's already straining against his pants and the gleam in her eyes is almost too much. He holds out his hand, helping her stand, interrupts her protest with his mouth on hers.

"I wanted to-" she gasps on a breath.

"I know." He tugs her hips into his, a low moan escaping when she hooks an ankle around his calf and grinds against his leg. "Oh my God."

"Castle."

Her voice is low, almost threatening, and he takes the hint, draws her lacy top over her head. It falls to the floor as he takes her in, her nude-colored cotton bra, her slender waist, the barely-visible scar between her breasts that seems to fade a little more each time he sees it. His hands splay at her hips, fingers feeling, searching for a fastener, zipper, anything to get her slacks off. "How in the hell…"

She steps back just far enough to smirk at him, and then she turns, tugs at the bow at her back. "Zipper's under there."

"That's dumb," he mumbles under breath, but her answering laugh is cut short when he slides the zipper down and shoves her slacks past her hips, just far enough that he can slide his hand beneath her panties and circle a finger around her clit. She sags back into him for just a moment, then turns and steps out of her pants, kicks them to the side, stands before him in just a matching set of lingerie. It's simple, just a bra and thong, but he's breathless.

His wife is perfect.

He's taken out of his stupor by her hand at his pants, her fingers undoing the button, dragging the zipper down at a painfully slow pace. His pants and boxers land in a heap at his feet, and he has to close his eyes when she touches him, has to steel himself against the urge to thrust into her hand. She's brought him over the edge with just her hand more times than he can count, as he's done with her, but after just a few strokes he takes her hand off of him.

"Bed," he manages to choke, and she just grins at him, leads him the last few steps to the bed. He reaches around her when she kneels on the comforter, unclasping her bra with practised ease, bends down to trail his mouth along her neck.

She gasps his name when his lips wrap around a nipple, teeth lightly scraping, tongue flicking, and her fingers find purchase in his hair, help guide him on top of her.

He settles between her legs, revels in the short gasps and quiet moans he draws from her when he switches breasts. Her grip on his hair is almost painful, but he loves it. If this is how his wife reacts when he's making love to her, he'll gladly do it every chance he gets for the rest of their lives.

His erection brushes against her leg, and he shifts, grinds his hips against her covered center and meets her mouth with his. He pulls himself away just long enough to hook his thumbs in her panties and draw the scrap of fabric down her legs, drops it off the side of the bed.

He takes a moment to look at her, to just take her in, and he doesn't even care that she's glaring at him, that he's throbbing and desperate. He can wait.

Her knees fall to the bed, opening herself to him, an invitation he'd be remiss to turn down. He slides his hands up her thighs, lightly rubbing, moving down to massage her calves for a moment before returning. One hand draws her leg over his shoulder, while the other continues to explore, fingers finding her upper thighs coated with her arousal.

She lifts her hips, his name leaving her lips on a low moan, and he quirks an eyebrow before bending his head to her.

He doesn't spend much time between her legs, just enough so that her hips are lifting and rolling against his tongue. But when he feels her near the edge, when her muscles start clenching erratically around his fingers and her hand tries to hold his head to her, he stops, sits back on his haunches.

Watching her break apart is something he'll never get tired of. The bright flush of her chest and neck, how her legs clench around him, her body arching, mouth open in a cry - or gasp, or scream - of pleasure, is something he could watch forever.

But seeing her this close to the edge, blown pupils glaring at him when he leaves the haven of her center, he loves that too. Loves that he can make her this way with just a few well-placed movements of his tongue and fingers.

"Come here," she almost growls, and he just grins at her.

A retort almost falls from his lips but she sits up and pushes him backwards, and before he knows it she's rising over him, gripping him, her head thrown back in pleasure as she guides him home.

He lifts his hips in a slow thrust, his hands falling to her thighs, eyes glued to her face as she grinds on top of him. After a few well-timed thrusts of his own that have her gasping and clenching around him, he sits up, hands splayed wide at her back, and flips them. Her legs wrap high around his waist, ankles locked at his back, and she cries out his name, fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves inside her.

"Kate," he gasps, his hips thrusting, movements sloppy already, and _oh_ she's perfect around him, so warm and soft and strong, her hips rolling in time with his. One hand glides along her arm and takes her hand, their fingers lacing together, and he pins hers above her head, whispers his love against her lips as she guides his mouth to hers.

"I love you," she gasps, voice breaking on the last word, and as she cries out and clenches around him, he speeds his thrusts, desperate for them to fall over the edge together.

"God-" he grunts, his knees keeping him from crushing her as their other hands join above her head. "I'm close-"

"With me, Rick."

He cries out when she spasms around him, her back arching, his vision going white as he spills inside her. He manages not to crush her when he falls, catching himself on his elbows. His eyes search hers when they slowly open, looking as always for any sign that she wasn't satisfied, but all he can see in the golden green depths is love.

"You good?" he asks anyway, and the laugh that erupts from her chest is contagious, has him shaking above her.

She tugs one hand free from his and caresses the side of his face, the soft hairs at his temple, the faint laugh lines at the corner of his eye. "I'm more than good," she assures him, lifting her head to press her smile to his. "I'm perfect."

He nudges his nose against hers when they part, his eyes drifting shut as her fingers massage the base of his skull. He'd had a slight headache since regaining consciousness in the warehouse, and the work of her fingers is magical, has his head dropping to her shoulder. "God, that feels great," he groans, his lips brushing against her collarbone.

She chuckles, a low, throaty sound in his ear. "You can repay me later," she teases, her mouth at his temple, her other hand curling around his shoulder.

"Oh, I plan to." He lifts himself to his elbows so he's looking down at her once again. Her left hand is at his shoulder, and he can feel her rings, both wedding and engagement, cool against his skin. He shifts to her side and takes her hand in his, the pads of his fingers tracing the simple gold band of her wedding ring.

"What is it?"

He tears his eyes from her ring to find her staring at him, her gaze so tender, that he can't help but kiss her yet again. He can't get enough of her, the lingering taste of the sparkling cider on her tongue, the warmth of her body. "I just can't believe we're here," he admits, his hand moving to cup her cheek.

Her eyes twinkle. "In bed?"

"No," he throws back, his eyes narrowing, "that is not unbelievable in the least. No, that we made it down the aisle. We managed to get married without anything disastrous happening."

She lets out a low hum, the corners of her lips lifting. "We did, didn't we?"

He sits up, ignoring her whine of protest, and twists to grab the champagne and glasses. He hands her the flutes so he can pop the cork, and after he pours them each a glass, he takes his and lifts it in the air. "To strength and perseverance," he toasts.

She returns his smile and taps her glass against his. "To our always."

 **-FIN-**


End file.
